


What Is A Hunter?

by witchwood_hull



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angels, Headcanon, Hunters, M/M, canon-noncompliance: angel's grace, canon-noncompliance: seeing souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchwood_hull/pseuds/witchwood_hull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monsters have been around for a very long time; the tradition of hunting them has to have been around just as long. So where did it come from?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is A Hunter?

**Author's Note:**

> \- This started life as one thing and ended up as something rather different.  
> \- Set in a Season 8 where Cas and Dean made it out of Purgatory together; the season then took the off-ramp into AU-ville after that. (That is: no MoL, no Naomi, no Torn and Frayed, etc.)  
> \- I'll do my best to answer questions if you have any.

A Field, Somewhere Not Too Far From The Outskirts Of Center City, NE

"Y'know, I've always wondered why. Why _us_ , y'know?" Dean took a swig of beer, then let his head fall back onto his wadded-up jacket. 

Castiel blinked, turning his head to stare at Dean's profile. "It's.... Foreordained." 

"Hm? No, not the whole Armageddon thing," Dean said, waving his free hand. "Nah, got that one figured out. No, I meant why're we always the ones who have to give up everything so the rest of the world can just...go on." 

"Because you are Hunters," Castiel said, shifting toward Dean a bit. 

"Yeah, but that's what I _do_. Why's it our job to save everyone?" He knew he was whining, but it had been at least a year since he'd last done it, so. 

"A living sacrifice, body and blood," Castiel murmured, reaching out and resting a hand over Dean's heart. 

"What?" 

"Hunters are... A sacrifice. To be a Hunter is to give of yourself, to safeguard all others." Castiel's mouth curved into a faint smile that quickly faded. "A role angels once played, before... Before." 

"Uh..." Dean craned his neck, looking down at Castiel's hand before looking up to the angel's face. "Angels. Were hunters." 

"Yes, Dean, they were. To keep the new people, the new world, safe. There weren't many people at first... But there were plenty of evil things that wanted to prey on them. So Father sent some of us to watch over and protect them." 

"So what happened?" Dean finished his beer and set the bottle aside, but he didn't otherwise move. 

"Humans...were fruitful, and increased," Castiel said, settling onto his side and propping his head up on his free hand. "More of us were sent out, and... And then... There was an argument. Which you know." 

"Ah." Dean nodded, his gaze still fixed on the stars. The heat from Castiel's hand was...nice, if he thought about it, though he mostly forced his mind away from it. 

"Those of us that were here, they stayed long enough to make the first Hunters. When the Hunters started to pass on their skills, the brothers and sisters were called back to their garrisons and we started to just stand watch from afar." Castiel paused, thumb sweeping up to the button on Dean's shirt before moving away. "The first of you were given some of our grace, but it's faded out of the bloodlines." 

"That why there's no angel lore in hunter's journals?" He closed his eyes and rested his hands just under Castiel's. 

"Only the prophets are allowed to write anything about us," Castiel said, edging his hand down by infinitesimal increments. He stopped short of actually touching Dean's hands, the warmth of the man's body bridging the gap nicely. 

"Mm." 

"You know, Dean... This vessel is very particular about its...wants," Castiel said, after some minutes had passed in frog- and cricket-infested silence. 

Dean jerked awake, rubbing his face as he made an inquisitive sound. He was lying on the ground, someone had their hand on his, his mouth tasted like beer. Cheap beer, which was usually the only kind they had. He decided that he must have only been out for a few minutes, based on the moon (about where he remembered seeing it last) and the fact that he wasn't too cold.  

"It's likely an echo of when Jimmy Novak inhabited it." 

Castiel was talking to him. Dean curled up just enough to see—yeah, that was Cas's hand on him. "Yeah?" 

"That happens, with vessels. They retain fragments of the lives lived in them." 

"So, what, if I'd let Michael in, he'd have gotten parts of my life?" Dean couldn't decide how he felt about the idea. It had the potential to be pretty funny, in some ways... He laid down again, deciding he was too comfortable to complain about whatever Cas was up to. Skin-to-skin contact was something of a rarity in his world, of late, and he was only human. 

"Yes. It seems to be the memories that are the most vivid that remain. For example, Jimmy had a very...base response to a well-prepared cheeseburger." 

"Oh yeah, I remember that," Dean said, with a chuckle. "Eating the raw meat was a little much, though." 

"That was Famine's doing," Castiel said, sounding prim. "I would not have behaved so... absurdly, had I been myself." 

"Yeah, well, sometimes absurd can be good." Dean patted Cas's hand, then stretched as well as he could while avoiding clipping Cas in the nose with his elbow. When he relaxed, his right arm was lying out straight, more or less behind Castiel, while his left hand lay on his belly, just above his belt buckle. He was only human, and Cas was an angel, but Cas had started out touching _him_ first and they'd all had a tough couple of months...

"I do enjoy watching things that do not necessarily make sense," Castiel said, agreeably. 

"'S why you stick with us, huh?" Dean bumped his hand into Castiel's, his mouth pulled into a lopsided smile, as he teased the angel. 

"You make entirely too much sense, sometimes," Castiel said, the levity completely gone. He looked down at Dean for a few seconds, then leaned over, leaned down; his lips pressed lightly against Dean's. 

Dean wasn't sure it was actually a _kiss_. It sure as hell wasn't a handshake, he could tell that much, but... Was it a kiss, a _kiss-_ kiss? A mistake? A benediction? It was as good as a triple espresso for waking him up, though; his heart and brain began to race in tandem. When Cas lifted his head, he reflexively licked his lips. Should he say something? What?

Castiel would have looked into Dean's eyes had the man's tongue not distracted him. He lowered his head again, catching the fading edge of cool dampness as flesh met flesh. Jimmy's vessel was insistent, demanding, in its appetites, though his grace generally suppressed what was optional and sustained what was not. 

He'd thought that desire had been completely quelled, at first; he had learned that it had not under rather more inhospitable circumstances than he would have liked. There had been no time to explore it, to understand it, not then... And this was certainly not the first time lust had surprised him in relation to Dean Winchester. Dean was _his_ , after all; if he was going to lust after anyone, Dean was really the best choice. 

"Uh..." Dean couldn't decide if he wanted to just go with it or protest. He could see the reasons and courses of actions laid out in his mind like title deeds from Monopoly, from greens through yellows to oranges and reds, with branches out into grays. The paths that led to reds were more numerous than grays or all greens, so he made his choice, sighed, and put his left hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Cas..." 

"Yes?" 

"Not a good idea, dude." 

Castiel frowned at him. "You enjoy sexual contact," he said. "You generally don't give it much thought—"

"Oh, yeah, I enjoy sexual contact, Cas," Dean said, rolling out from under Castiel and into a more upright position. "And yeah, I can flirt, seduce, fast-talk, lie, charm, and outright just _ask_ my way into people's pants. I've done it, it was desperate or fun or whatever, and no, I didn't think about it. There were times that it was what I did _instead_ of thinking." 

There were any number of things he could say to that; the two that presented themselves were _why_ and _what's different about now_. Castiel wasn't certain that asking either was the right thing to do, so he simply continued looking at Dean. 

"And you... Well, you're an _angel_. I thought you were above all this worldly bodily-functions crap," Dean said, gesturing at Castiel without looking at him. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. "I'm not goin' down for corrupting you, okay?" He tried to make it a joke, but it came out rougher than he'd intended. 

Now _that_ he had a reply for. Castiel nodded and said, "The moment I chose free will over unquestioning obedience was the moment I was considered corrupted." 

"So, what, you think nobody'll notice?" Dean huffed a laugh at that. 

"I also broke into a liquor store and stole most of the contents," Castiel said, to see if Dean would laugh again. He didn't, but the man did smile—even if it wasn't _at_ him, at least he'd caused it. 

"That was a crappy night," Dean said. 

"I didn't understand what anyone saw in being intoxicated," Castiel said, pushing himself up and mirroring Dean's pose. "When I tried it... I was numb and exposed all at once, and I didn't like the way it made me feel like I was going to fall over." 

"Yeah, it's like that. Nice thing about free will is you get to decide if you're gonna do that again or not." 

"I doubt I'll ever choose drunkenness ever again." 

"Why'd you pick me?" 

"That decision wasn't mine to make." 

"What? No, not the Michael thing—" Dean glanced at Castiel, shook his head. "No, I mean... Out of all the billions of people on the planet, out of all the billions you could have, you... You, uh... You kissed me." 

"Because I wanted to," Castiel said. 

Some tiny corner of Dean's brain appreciated the fact that Cas's voice was free of contempt. "You wanted to." 

"Yes." 

"Because Jimmy's body—"

"No. Jimmy never kissed you—He'd only kissed a few people. Mostly his wife. His body, however, is...When the mind and the heart within it are...interested in someone, it has very definite and imperative physiological responses." 

"Yeah, okay, makes sense—" Dean went still, darting another glance at Castiel. "Your mind and, uh, heart are in there now," he said, slowly, working up to actually facing the conclusion. The pathways in his head reshuffled themselves, mapping out potential outcomes and escape routes. "So, uh... You're saying..." 

Castiel took pity on the man and nodded. "Yes, Dean." 

"Because of me. Okay. Uh..." All of the cards went red; he shook his head and most of them scattered. The one that remained held one word in a darker shade, the two of them pulsing in time: _NO_.  "Cas—"

"There is nothing—The rules—There are no...laws. The writings of the prophets are the only true words, and they said nothing, say nothing, because God himself says—"

"That's not it," Dean said, holding up a hand. "No, uh, two dudes, that's not the problem." Never had been, if he was going to be honest with himself. "C'mon, Cas, you're an _angel_. That's gotta be, y'know, an issue. And, uh..." 

"The vessel doesn't matter," Castiel said, then frowned. "That's not entirely true, but I don't think you could inhabit an abomination's skin, so it's pointless to speculate." 

"Right, yeah, that's a relief," Dean said. "Still. Angel. Not a problem?" 

"Not exactly. You... What's wrong?" 

"Look, Cas, it's..." Dean pulled his jacket into his lap, turning it over to pick dead leaves and bits of grass from it. It took him three tries before he managed to speak, and when he did, he was surprised by what he said. "You wanna know why I'm so willing to sacrifice myself for my family?" 

"I already—"

"'Cause I'm pretty sure I'm the expendable one. 'Cause I'm not good for much in the 'real world', you know? I know I'm at my best in the gutters, the sewers, the underbelly. Every time I've ended up in jail, I know I'd be king of the yard inside a month, if I stayed that long. Okay? 

I'm not... I'm not made for suburbs and the PTA. And I can't do relationships. I dunno _how_. Last one I had, I spent half of it tryin' to drink myself I dunno where and the other half learning how to function and then I fucked it all up. So no, Cas. Not a good idea." 

Castiel rose to his feet, holding up an index finger when Dean looked up at him, then blinked away. When he returned, it was at Dean's side; in each hand he carried a galvanized bucket. 

"What—"

"Keep talking," Castiel said, setting the buckets aside. He pulled his coat and his jacket off together, folded them up and set them aside as well. "Go on." 

"Keep—What, you really wanna hear about how fucked up I am and how much this is not a good idea?" Dean glared at him. 

"You've breached the wall," Castiel said, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. 

"You got some kind of fucked-up self-loathing kink or something?" He watched Castiel rolling up his sleeves with more confusion than anger. 

"Not in the least," Castiel said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dropping it into the first bucket. He knelt beside Dean and took the man's jacket from him, putting it on top of his own, then rather dispassionately began unbuttoning Dean's shirt. "Tell me." 

"Tell you what? How I fail everyone who relies on me? How I can't hold up everyone that needs holding up, how I avoid looking in mirrors unless I have to? 'Cause I do. How I always look at other people, always looking _out_ so I never have to look at me? What are you doing?" 

"Don't stop," Castiel said, pushing both of Dean's long-sleeved shirts down his arms so he could work them off over Dean's hands. "I want everything." 

"I've been living with one fucking idea, ideal, whatever, for so long I dunno what I'd do if I didn't have to any more. And I don't even know why I bother, 'cause the fact is, I can't even do what it is I set out to live my life to do. I lose people, Cas, I can't fucking _save_ 'em. People I love, people I hate, people I don't even fucking _know_. I got one job and I can't fucking do it right, and I can't fucking look at myself because of it. What the hell—" 

"Everything," Castiel murmured, pulling Dean's t-shirt over his head and off. 

"And I know what's dead's supposed to fucking stay dead, 'cause when it doesn't it's always _always_ bad news but I'm so goddamn _weak_ that I don't fucking _wanna_ leave it. If I could get Bobby back—Fuck, I knew it was wrong to be—Look at Sam. I fucked up there, big time. And Mom..." His breath hitched, the result of both emotion and surprise. 

"It's all right," Castiel whispered, dipping the handkerchief into the water again. He squeezed most of it back into the bucket, then the rest out onto Dean's left shoulder, over silvery scars and freckles. 

"What are you doing?" Cold fabric swept over his skin, mopping up the water and leaving a chill in its wake. If he'd been in a tub, he would have sworn Cas was _washing_ him. 

Water dripped over the dark spikes and curves of Dean's tattoo, followed by the slow drag of cloth. "Water is powerful," Castiel said, just above the susurrus of the night. "Blessed or not." 

Dean blinked, holding his breath as he turned that over a couple of times. "Cas..."

"Keep talking." 

"Fine. Fine, you want it, I'll tell you." 

Dean spoke, letting every poisonous thought he'd ever had about himself, every regret and every missed chance, slip out into the night air. And as he spoke, Castiel kept up his ministrations; he moved slowly, soothingly, from left to right and from front to back. 

By the time he wound down, Dean was shivering. He told himself it was only due to the light breeze licking at his damp skin, suspecting that Castiel knew the truth... 

Castiel gently lifted Dean's chin and passed his handkerchief over the man's lips. "With confession we are cleansed and forgiven," he said.

"Yeah," Dean said, eyes closed. He tilted his head back, ignoring the irritating prickling of his eyes. 

"Fear is a thief, a heart-eater," Cas added, drawing a cross over Dean's sternum, over his lips, on his forehead. "And unto you I say _fear not_." 

Dean's next breath was ragged, his shoulders jerking as he inhaled. "Cas..." 

"Where's your phone?" 

Dean wasn't sure if he was relieved that the slightly-odd question had broken the mood between them. "Uh, jacket. Why?" 

"Good." Castiel got up, lifting the second bucket and swinging it over to hang above Dean's head. "Dean?"

"Yeah." He closed his eyes again, pressed his lips together as cold water splashed against his brow and ran down his temples. The stream crossed his mouth and purled down his chest, soaking into the clothing he still wore; he leaned back a little further and the chill ran from left shoulder to right. 

When the man bowed his head, Castiel stepped around him to pour more water over him; from the nape of his neck down the length of his spine, from the mark of Castiel's hand across his scapulae to the unmarked skin of his right bicep. That done, he removed his own shirts and upended the bucket over his own head. 

A droplet trickled past the corner of Dean's mouth; his tongue flicked out and he tasted salt—he swiped fingers through the remains of the water on his chest and licked his fingers. More salt. Salt and angel-touched water... Speaking of angel-touched, Cas was standing in front of him again, now dripping wet. He got up, ignoring the clammy pull of his jeans as he moved, reaching out to touch Cas's elbow. 

Castiel put a hand on Dean's hip and the other around the back of his neck, pulling him in, pulling him down; saltwater dripped cold between them as their lips met again. 

Confusion and a strange contentment shifted uneasily against desire: Cas would move away a fraction of an inch and then come back. It was less kissing and more just kind of...bumping their mouths together. Dean wasn't sure if it was inexperience, hesitation, or simply A Weird Angel Thing; before he could decide whether to ask, there was the _definite_ drag of Cas's lower lip against his own.

Their bodies were cool, save for where they touched: Dean's hand on his forearm, his hands on Dean, the tip of Dean's tongue just resting against his lower lip; every point was ablaze with warmth—Castiel wondered anew at the multiplicity of sensation and Father's gorgeous design. Then Dean's tongue _moved_ and he put all other thoughts away, focusing instead on the way Dean shuddered when he opened his mouth and invited him in.

Salt seeped in at the edges of the kiss, quick little flashes sparking across his tongue before it was lost to them both. Dean set his free hand in the small of Cas's back, fingers spread wide in order to press him closer; tilted his head in order to press closer himself. 

Despite what Castiel had said, it was more than a mere physiological response. His grace was humming just under his skin, sweet and pure, something that only happened when he and Dean touched, no matter how casually. He wasn't sure if he could— _should_ —say anything about it. 

"Cas," Dean said, against the corner of Castiel's mouth, before leaning back and squinting at him. "Is—"

"All is well," Castiel said, cupping Dean's face with both hands. "All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." 

"Oh. Great." Dean swallowed, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do—or say—next. Cas's eyes were mesmerising, the moonlight failing to wash the color from them, and he wondered vaguely if he was being hypnotised. 

"You do know that I l—"

"Do we have to?" Dean wrenched his gaze away from the angel's, his hands falling away from Cas as he did. "I—"

"No. No, of course not," Castiel said, ignoring the thin cry of his grace as well as the keen of Dean's soul as they parted. "It does not matter to me if you are not...attached. If it is in my power to give it to you, I will give it to you. I—" 

"Jesus, Cas," Dean, head hanging, grabbed Cas's shoulders. "That's not—No. That's not what I meant. Like I said, I'm not _good_ at this, okay? I just... I just made you think I'm not—That you and I are on, uh, different pages. That's not it." 

"We're...on the same page." 

Dean looked up, a lopsided smile on his face at the half-question. "Yeah. Uh, metaphorically speaking." 

"Oh." 

"Can... If it's... Can you... Will it be okay, if, if, if you say it and I can't and it's not that I hate you, it's not that I'm, y'know, not interested it's just... It's..." Dean couldn't finish, and he couldn't keep looking at Cas. 

Castiel put a hand on Dean's chest, over his sternum, closed his eyes, and concentrated. His grace slid easily from his skin into Dean's, the tiniest trickle of warmth and everything that Dean inspired in him. "Do you..."

"Cas..." Dean breathed the name, his head snapping up. He stared, his mouth working over unvoiced syllables. 

"This..." He let a fraction more of his grace to pulse between them. "This is my grace. And this..." Castiel let his awareness expand until he could see Dean's soul, then sharpened his grace and let it reach for Dean, quieting the man's outward-looking senses so that the moment that grace and soul met—

"Oh my _god_ ," Dean said, his voice shaking and far-away to his own ears. "God, Cas, that's... What... What is that—"

"That's what happened when I laid my hand on you in Hell," Castiel said, gently withdrawing his grace and gathering Dean close again. "Far less dramatic, yes, but otherwise the same." 

"You've... You... Every time you said...that what you did, you did it for me..." Dean was still fitting the pieces together, the fading echoes of the _triumph-joy-mine-pride-hope-mine-love-warm-mine_ and things he couldn't name that Cas had shown him _oh god oh god that's inside_ me _not just him but_ me _me oh god_ not helping much. "That... This... You meant... _me_. Not... Not the Righteous Man." 

"Yes." 

"Okay. Okay, so... Uh..." Dean rubbed his face, then returned his hand to Cas's shoulder. "So that's..." He'd known, but hadn't bothered—hadn't quite been brave enough—to actually acknowledge it. And now... If it was something _they_ shared, then perhaps, maybe, just _possibly_... Could they? Was...that...something they could _have?_

"I...have recently become aware that I would like to...express that. Physically. To you." Castiel curled his lower lip in between his teeth and furrowed his brow. 

" _With_ me," Dean said, after a couple of deep breaths. Cas knew him, knew every last flaw and foible, so... So maybe. He licked his lips and caught the last ghost of salt. "'Cause I, uh, I don't—It's both of us or nothing. Okay?" 

"If you are not comfortable—"

"Cas, it's not negotiable." Dean's turn to put his hands on Cas's face, and he finally made eye contact again. "I don't... I'm not gonna be the only one gettin' off if we ever quit talking about this, okay? And... And I don't think this is gonna be a one-time thing. 'Cause you, that's... That's not _you_." That was as close as he was going to get. As he could, at the moment. 

"I _would_ prefer...a more...constant arrangement," Castiel said, searching for any cue, any clue, as to what Dean was thinking. "And I am not...familiar with human relationships. The examples I have seen are not... Not precisely held up as the pinnacle to which one should aspire. Perhaps..." 

"You'll get the hang of it eventually," Dean said, giving him a little pat on the jaw. Then he blinked because he _finally_ noticed that Cas was just as...yeah, okay, just as scared as he was. That took some of the wind out of the sails of his own fears, which was a relief. "Uh... So... If _I_ think _you_ can probably do okay, and _you_ think _I_ can probably do okay, then... Maybe we've got a shot?" 

"It would seem to be the logical conclusion," Castiel said, cautious amusement creeping in. "Or as logical as one can be in these matters." 

"Yeah," Dean said, his lopsided smile coming back for a few moments. It faded away and he took another deep breath. "Okay, so... As long as you know what you're signing up for." 

"Of course I do." Castiel turned his head and brushed his lips over the heel of Dean's hand. "I won't ask you to...promise more—"

"Dude, this, between us? It's between _us_. I'm not gonna sleep around on you, I can promise you that. That's just low, even for me."

Castiel nodded, half-kissing Dean's hand again. "So our fidelity is not to be questioned." 

"It'd be like questioning our profound bond," Dean said, giving the last two words just the smallest of sarcastic twists because he couldn't say them without it. It wasn't that he didn't believe in it—after Cas's little demonstration, how could he deny it?—it was just that _talking_ about it was...not his thing. "If it's gonna happen, but it won't be me or you doing it." 

"Yes. We will deal with the questions as they arise." 

"Sounds like a plan. Sounds like most of our plans, actually," Dean said, with a huff of laughter. "In the meantime... I dunno about you, but I'm half-naked, my pants are soaked, and I'm freezing to death in a damn field in Nowhere, Nebraska. We should maybe head back to the motel."

"Or..." Castiel blinked and they were in the back seat of Baby, cocooned in warm air. "Is this acceptable? Or do you wish to return to the... What was it... Husker's Motel?" 

"Uh..." Dean looked around, then shrugged. The whole thing screamed _wanna make out?_ , but then again, they _had_ been moving that way for the last ten minutes. Two, if you didn't count the distracting conversation. The kissing had been nice, and hey: they were now 'officially'...doing whatever it was they were doing, because hunting together was great but couldn't be called dating by any stretch of the imagination and Cas didn't have the first clue about dating, which actually worked in his favor and Cas was looking at him— "Yeah, sorry, this is fine. Um." 

"Um?" 

"Oh, for—I give up. This...isn't our night, apparently. Motel, hot shower—Uh... Well. Um. If Sammy's there, which he probably will be, asleep, uh..." He glanced at Cas, leaning over a little in concern at the expression on his face. 

"Are you...suggesting that we..." 

"Conserve water, yeah," Dean said, allowing himself a smirk. "Nice thing about hotels is they usually have a _lot_ of hot water. And I noticed when I was in the room, earlier. It's got a tub instead of a stall, so, uh, room for two." How was this his life? Hunting monsters, okay, but hunting monsters and basically propositioning a friggin' angel? One that was in love with him, yeah, but _still_. 

"I don't know if that would be wise," Castiel said, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes just a little. "The number of accidents and accidental deaths associated with bathtubs—"

"Okay!" Dean flinched and held up his hands. "Right, mood's officially DOA. Uh, did you zap our clothes in here with us?" 

"They're in the front seat."

"Great. Let's get this show on the road." 

 - - * - - 

Sam looked up from his laptop when they came in. "Hey." 

"Hey, Sam." 

"Hello." Castiel closed the door and locked it, though he knew it was essentially pointless. If someone or something wanted in badly enough, a mere lock wasn't going to be much of an impediment. 

"Are...you okay?" Sam said, frowning at the two of them. "You look like you got caught in the rain." 

"We're fine," Dean said, waving a hand at his brother as he crossed to the bathroom. "Either of you want in here before I grab a shower?" 

"Unnecessary," Castiel said, though he did wish to join Dean as the man had suggested. 

"I'm good," Sam said, with a shrug. He glanced at Cas again, then went back to his reading. A few minutes later, once Dean had started the water running, he looked over at the angel again. "So... What happened, Cas? Did you two have another, uh, argument?" 

"No." Castiel frowned at that, then said, "Not...exactly. I believe we have actually come to an understanding." 

"Okay... Is that a good thing?"

"In this instance, I believe the answer is yes." He turned his frown on Sam for a moment. "As you are Dean's brother, he will have to tell you about it."

"Right." 

Fifteen minutes later, Dean emerged from the bathroom in an old T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants he'd hacked off at the knees, his towel slung around his neck. He caught Cas's eye and lifted his chin a little, moving his head in Sam's general direction. "Did you, uh, tell Sam?" 

"No. I...wasn't sure that I was...the right person. The appropriate person. If Gabriel were available, we might have asked him to do so."

"That asshat? Why?" 

"He is—or was, before he ran away—Father's messenger. Whenever some great divine event was to occur, Father would send Gabriel to annouce it." Castiel's frown returned in force. "He did tend to...get annoyed if people didn't believe him. He struck Zacharias—the father of John the Baptist—mute for arguing over whether or not Gabriel was telling the truth." 

"Maybe Zacharias had run into Gabriel before," Sam said, sharing a sardonic look with his brother. "I mean, if he popped in now to tell us the sky was blue, I don't know if I'd belive him." 

"Gabriel has always been...impulsive. He truly does—did not like strife in the family, which..." Castiel shrugged and sighed a little.

"I can understand that," Sam said, then waved a hand. "So what is it that's going on, here? Cas said you'd come to some kind of understanding about...something?" He looked at Dean. 

Dean wasn't looking at either of them, choosing instead to sit on the corner of his bed and dry his hair again. Sort of. Mostly he was using the towel as a shield and he knew it. "Uh, Cas and I... We're, uh... I dunno what to call it. Together, I guess, is as good a word as any." 

"You... And Castiel..." Sam looked from his brother to the angel and back. "You're... together. As in _together_ together? Like, dating?" 

"Yes, Sam, _together_ together. As in, like, dating. Except that you know as well as I do the closest we're ever gonna come to that is me and him going for burgers without you. And maybe not even then." Dean glared at the cloth in his hands, angry with himself for snapping at Sam and for still being _afraid_ which just made him angry and why the fuck was he stuck in this fucking rut? Other people got to be scared, why didn't he? 

"Dean," Castiel said, just as Sam said, "Okay, okay." They looked at one another and Sam shrugged. 

"I just wanted to be sure I wasn't missing anything," Sam said, after Castiel had nodded at him. "And... I mean, great, you two have been ignoring the thing between you for way too long, so thank God that's over. Congratulations, if you want 'em." 

"It's not... You're not...upset?" Dean eyed Sam a little suspiciously. 

"Dude, you're the one who's always teasing me about being a hippie and stuff," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, Dean. Brother, brother-in-law, not really much of a difference to me." 

"Brother-in—Whoa, wait, we're not—" Dean held up his hands. 

"I wasn't saying you were," Sam said, closing his laptop and setting it on the night stand. "Just...putting it out there that whatever Cas is to you, he's at least family to me."  
  
"Thank you, Sam," Castiel said, as gravely as he said most things. 

"Okay. Uh... Great. Good. That's out of the way, then." Dean nodded, wadding up the towel before turning and lobbing it at the sink. It landed on the counter nearby and he held his hands up in triumph for a moment. 

"So, uh... Sleeping arrangements," Sam said, when Dean didn't seem inclined to do or say anything else. "I so do _not_ want or need details, but, uh, should I go get another room for the night or something?" 

Dean looked at Cas and raised his eyebrows slightly; Cas responded with a slight downward curve of his lips and the faintest narrowing of his eyes. Sam wondered, vaguely and not for the first time, if Castiel's _profound bond_ had telepathic benefits. Or side-effects, whichever. 

"Nah, not tonight, Sammy," Dean said, stretching expansively and working in a quick flick of his fingers in Cas's direction. To Castiel, he said, "I know you don't sleep, but do you think you could fake it for a while? Even with, uh, y'know..." He waved a hand, "I'm still kinda creeped out by the whole watching-me-sleep thing. Nothin' personal, it's just..."

"You're a Hunter," Castiel said, nodding at Dean while slipping his coat from his shoulders. "You are accustomed to being more aware of your surroundings, and someone standing over you in the dark would be...unsettling. I did _try_ to avoid looming." He hung his coat over the back of the nearest chair, then removed his jacket. 

"And I appreciate that," Dean said, getting up. He went around the bed, pulling the covers and the top sheet loose from their prison between mattress and box spring.

"Okay," Sam said, shaking his head at the other two, then checking his watch. "Past time to be getting some shut-eye. You done in there?" Sam pointed at the bathroom.

"Yeah," Dean said, with a short nod. Finished with the bed, he rummaged in his bag until he came up with another old shirt and a pair of pajama pants that had also been trimmed off at the knees. Going by their appearance, one might assume that a machete had been used (and one would be correct). "Here, change into these," he said to Cas, handing them across the bed. 

"Certainly." Castiel removed his clothes with swift economy, folding each item neatly before setting it aside, then pulled on the clothes that Dean had given him. He looked down and pulled the hem of his shirt out, an odd little quirk to both his eyebrows and mouth. 

"What?" Dean said, when he'd glanced up. He wasn't sure why he'd looked away while Cas was getting undressed—it wasn't like they hadn't been shirtless and sucking face less than an hour ago, after all. It was still just...kinda weird, to think about looking at a naked Cas. To know that he was _allowed_ to look at a naked Cas. And yeah, maybe he'd always had an attraction to guys—but that didn't make years of not reacting, not looking go up in a puff of road dust. 

"It's...your shirt," Castiel said, letting go of the hem to pull at the fabric a couple of inches down from the collar. He ducked his head and brought the cloth up to his nose, deliberately inhaling. "It smells like you." 

"Uh, yeah." Dean blinked and cleared his throat, deciding to play the moment more funny than aroused because Sam might take, like, two minutes longer in the shower than he did but it still wasn't _enough_. Not _too_ funny, though, because he— _they—_ were still feeling their way around the edges of whatever this was. "I was pretty sure I'd washed it, last time we did laundry." 

"At least it does not smell of death and blood," Castiel said, tugging the shirt straight and tilting his head. "Do you have a particular preference for one side of the bed?" 

"Yeah, we definitely try to either wash or burn anything that gets gross while we're on a hunt before it starts to get funky," Dean said, grimacing at the memory of what happened when they didn't. He shrugs at Cas's second question and waves a hand. "Nah, not really. I usually keep something under my pillow, y'know, just in case. Sometimes on the table." 

Cas nodded and considered the bed and its relation to the door and window, then made his choice. "I will sleep on this side." 

"Great. Hop in." Dean took Ruby's knife out of his bag, tucked it under the pillow, then slid under the covers. 

"This...is going to be awkward and uncomfortable, isn't it?" Castiel said, a couple of minutes later. The two of them were lying on their backs, six inches between them and rather more tension than he was expecting coiled up in their muscles. 

"It's kinda stupid," Dean said, dragging a hand over his face. "I mean, we're adults, we're...whatever we are to one another, we've already _kissed_ , for Pete's sake." 

"I am the one who gripped you tight," Castiel said, daring to make the words warm and unthreatening, "and raised you from perdition." 

"Yeah. Yeah, you are," Dean said, turning onto his side to face Cas. "And I say screw it. We've survived Hell, the apocalypse, Dick, Purgatory, and in my case the horror of being pie-free for over a friggin' _year_. It's time we got something nice outta the deal, so: You wanna be the big spoon or the little spoon?" 

"I... I think I should like to..." 

Dean wondered if the weird thing that he'd just felt in his chest was a precursor to a heart attack. It hadn't really _hurt_ , it was just...strange. What was stranger, though, was the way his usually straight-forward and straight-faced angel looked. Shy? Was Cas getting _shy_ about this? Maybe angels didn't cuddle. Seemed like a shame, what with the wings and all... Dean wrenched his thoughts away from the idea of Cas and his wings, because that was a one-way ticket to a second shower and he was pretty sure _that_ would raise questions with Cas and get him knowing looks from Sam, neither of which he was particularly interested in. "Doesn't matter to me, honestly. I'm good either way." 

Castiel took a breath and turned over to face Dean. "The, ah, big spoon, then. Though we are approximately the same height." 

"Awesome," Dean said, smiling at him before turning over the other way. He wriggled backward a bit and adjusted his pillow (and the knife beneath it).

Figuring out where his lower arm went was more than a little awkward, but once Castiel had he settled in against Dean's back like he'd been made to fit there. And perhaps he had—but that was a question for another day and another being entirely. At the moment, he was more than content to rest his hand over Dean's heart and feel the steady beat of it, to appreciate the heat of him, the scents of soap and water and Dean himself. 

"G'night," Dean said, once they'd come to rest. 

"Sleep well," Cas said, "My vessel shall rest, but I shall be vigilant." 

"D'you need rest? Or izzat pretty much a human thing?" He'd forgotten how good it was to share a bed, to have someone else's arm over him.

"Primarily a human thing," Cas murmured. "Don't worry about me." 

"Jus' curious," Dean mumbled. Seconds later, he was out. 


End file.
